Praying
by muddmm
Summary: It's the first anniversary of Voldemort's defeat and Hermione prays for all those souls who were lost - including the Dark Lord's. Oneshot.


_I have become obsessed with Ke$ha's new song and with the 'Me too.' movement across social media. On my second (or was it third) time listening to "Praying" I had this vision of Hermione singing it for a one year anniversary of Voldemort's defeat. I own nothing; Harry Potter and "Praying" belongs entirely to the brilliance of J.K. Rowling and Ke$ha. Right now I don't know if I'll continue this or if it'll be a one-shot but I could not get it out of my head._

The table settings were the picture of understated elegance. Heavy white tablecloths, fresh flowers in every silver vase, gold inlay Chinese place settings adorned with magical runes, silverware gleaming in the soft candlelight that filled the opulent ballroom. The ballroom itself had vaulted ceilings nearly twenty-feet high where more runes and paintings of great magical feats resided. Along the walls, interspersed between the wide windows, were long red velvet drapes to muffle the noise of the crowd. The diners, in total a crowd of over one hundred, all sat laughing, talking, and reflecting on the years passed as they sipped champagne and dined on duck confit and braised lamb. The entire scene reeked of old money.

"They're trying too hard," muttered Draco Malfoy, examining his reflection in a shiny silver spoon. He was dressed in the highest quality dress robes, a grey so light it nearly matched the silver of his eyes. With his shoulder length platinum blonde hair no longer slicked back with too product he looked like a refined miniature of his father.

Lucius Malfoy slowly sipped his fire whiskey from its gold flecked tumbler while his own eyes, a darker grey than his son, more pewter colored, scanned the room. He had more enemies than friends here which had necessitated the largest donation which had then led to the Malfoy's getting the best table – namely, dead center of the room. They were surrounded. Lucius lowered his glass and flecked imaginary lint of his sapphire blue dress robes. Green, though his traditional color, was no longer…appropriate for the times.

"Nonsense, Draco. Everything is perfectly tasteful. I doubt even your mother would have been able to find a flaw." The topic of Narcissa Malfoy was still rather difficult for father and son but they persevered, knowing the woman would not have wanted the two men in her life to distance themselves from one another on her account. She had been subjected to one too many curses during the reign of the Dark Lord and had slowly succumbed to the nerve damage. She had finally passed nearly six months ago.

Draco opened his mouth to reply to his father when the lights on the candles floating overhead were magically dimmed and the man of the hour stepped onto the stage.

"Good evening, Ladies and Gentleman," Harry Potter began, his voice enhanced and able to traverse the sixty foot ballroom with the help from a _Sonorous_ charm. It looked like he had finally gotten himself some decent dress robes that fit: a smart black set that accentuated the green of his eyes. "I can't tell you how wonderful it is to see all of you this evening because that means every one of you donated to the War Relief fund to be here."

Applause greeted the opening statements of the Chosen One and Draco sat back in his chair, prepared to endure the noise every time the Boy-Who-Lived finished a sentence. One sharp look from his father however had him sitting up sharply, a look of polite indifference on his sharp face as he turned his attention over to Potter.

"Today marks the one year anniversary since the defeat of Tom Marvolo Riddle, or the dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort." Potter made to continue but as a large shudder passed through those gathered he paused. "One of the wizards responsible for defeating Voldemort once told me 'Never be afraid to say his name. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.' We no longer have to fear Voldemort thanks to wizards like Albus Dumbledore, who gave his life to fight darkness." Again thunderous applause met this announcement and Draco fought not to roll his eyes. The old wizard was batty and had been for years. Who else would have planned to rest the entire future of Wizarding England on a seventeen-year-old boy's dueling skills?

Potter went on to thank the various witches and wizards who died in the war against Voldemort, expounding on their bravery and the sacrifice they had made. "Many have left behind loved ones who will only ever hear stories of the valor these heroic witches and wizards exhibited so we may live free and fearless today." Lucius had to give the boy credit, it was a good speech. He wondered who had written it for him.

"I know I've been talking up here for a while and you all are probably sick of seeing my face," a hearty round of laughter accompanied this statement, as Draco knew it would. Potter's face was in the Prophet nearly every day as they reported on his life after Voldemort: where he ate, what he wore, who he was seen around town with. Surprisingly it was not the littlest Weasley, who was off traveling the globe for the Holly Head Harpies.

"But I have one more person to thank. Without her, I would not be alive today. In fact, without her, Voldemort would probably have come back sooner than planned since I would have died in my first year of Hogwarts – or at least flunked out." Both Malfoy's grew still, knowing immediately who it was that Potter was describing. They would never be able to forget her face - or her screams. "As many of you know, Hermione Granger has become quite well known for playing benefit concerts around England and other parts of Europe in order to raise money for relief efforts as well as educate other wizarding cultures on the signs and dangers of political oppression. She has continued her efforts to fight for the rights of werewolves and house elves and tonight she honors us with an original song."

Potter bowed and walked off the stage as the heavy velvet curtain parted to reveal a baby grand piano, elegant in its simplicity. From the left a young woman walked slowly and confidently towards the black bench. Draco's breath caught at his first sighting Hermione Granger since the Final Battle.

She was thin, although she had always been somewhat slim, the purple silk halter dress she wore emphasized that she had not quite bounced back from her year on the run from Voldemort and his snatchers. _The torture probably didn't help either_ , Draco thought bitterly. If his own experiences could compare he knew she probably had flashbacks and spasms from her extended torture at the hands of his Aunt Bellatrix. From his seat, Draco was able to see the details of her appearance very well and he could quite clearly make out the raised pink scar on her right inner forearm.

 _Mudblood._

The wound had never healed properly it seemed, having been made with a blade steeped in dark magic. Her outfit showed off the scar perfectly as well as her other marks of bravery in battle. Draco could see the wide slash from Dolohov's curse thrown the night at the Department of Mysteries. He was surprised that Granger was deliberately showing off these painful reminders of her dealings with Death Eaters but he supposed he would have been proud of the scars as well. After all, the witches and wizards who had disfigured her were dead and she was alive.

His father shifted a bit so his low voice would only be heard by Draco. "She looks quite lovely despite everything." Draco had to agree. Her elfish face was clear of any blemishes, her honey eyes wide and bright and framed by thick lashes, her hair – a monstrosity in her youth – bounced in thick mahogany curls down to the small of her back. Granger settled herself at the piano and began to play a low, haunting melody. Draco had imagined her voice would to be quite like her: petite, light, something breathy and refreshing. The voice that accompanied that dark melody was trembling in its intensity:

 _"Well you almost had me fooled. Told me that I was nothing without you."_

Draco felt his father stiffen and knew the words had had their intended effect. He wondered if Ganger knew they were in the audience – if the song was meant to once more publicly rip them over the coals. Though he and his father had avoided Azkaban thanks to his mother's interference on Potter's behalf and his own relatively young age at the time he was inducted as a Death Eater he knew the world held little sympathy for them. They were not Severus Snape, martyred spy, who had given his life for the cause. They were wealthy and entitled purebloods who had willingly joined the Dark Lord in his genocide. The Dark Lord had twisted his family's honor and love for tradition into something depraved to the point where they only recognized how deep they were in until it was too late to crawl back out unscathed.

 _"Oh, but after everything you've done, I can thank you, for how strong I have become. You brought the flames and you put me through hell. I had to learn how to fight for myself. And we both know all the truth I could tell. I'll just say this is 'I wish you farewell'."_ Granger lifted her head and Draco could see her eyes were pinched as if she were in pain. Her long locks shook as she continued to sing, _"I hope you're somewhere prayin', prayin. I hope your soul is changin', changin'_." Draco could barely breathe and he felt his father on his right, coiled like a spring about to snap. He could feel the magic slowly gathering in the atmosphere as Granger's voice rang out. _"I hope you find your peace, falling on your knees, prayin'."_ Distantly Draco could hear sobs somewhere towards the back of the ballroom but he was too focused on Granger to care. What she was singing…her voice…the desperation he heard…She seemed to be singing to everyone who had suffered because of the war: herself, the other survivors, the Death Eaters who had foolishly chosen to follow a madman, even the Dark Lord himself. Maybe especially the Dark Lord – the one who had cleaved his soul in order to escape his fears.

Her voice shook on the next line and Draco could see tears streaming down her beautiful face. _"I'm proud of who I am. No more monsters, I can breathe again. And you said that I was done. Well you were wrong, and now the best is yet to come."_ Pain lanced through him so sharply that he gasped. She was the anathema to everything he had grown up believing. Everything the Dark Lord had preached about muggles and muggle-borns was defied with one look from this girl, one word spoken from her mouth. And nothing he or his father, or the Slytherins, or the pure-bloods, or the Death Eaters had done had managed to break her. _"'Cause I can make it on my own. And I don't need you, I found a strength I've never known. I'll bring thunder, I'll bring rain, o,h when I'm finished, they won't even know your name!"_ She practically screamed her last verse and the magic weaving through the ballroom grew thicker and heavier in the air. Draco saw a shimmer behind Hermione towards the back of the stage. He squinted, trying to make out its shape.

His hand shot out and gripped Lucius's shoulder. "Father!" The elder Malfoy managed to divert enough of attention to his son and his sudden distress to see what had the boy alarmed. Lucius's own gasp was drowned out by the rising crescendo of the piano music. "She's a necromancer," he breathed out incredulously. For behind the young heroine stood the outlines of dozens of souls all called by the magic the witch was weaving with her song. Lucius had little doubts has to who the souls were: those people who had been murdered by the Dark Lord and his followers. They had been drawn to the despair and rage in the girl's playing. _"You brought the flames and you put me through hell! I had to learn how to fight for myself! And we both know all the truth I could tell! I'll just say this is 'I wish you farewell!"_

Suddenly Granger stood up, the motion so violent she threw the piano bench to the ground. Her hands never ceased their movements on the piano as she cried out, _"I hope you're somewhere prayin'! Prayin'!"_ But she was no longer singing alone.

The souls of the departed had joined her and their voices and hers combined to echo exquisitely across the ballroom. Everyone was enthralled. _"I hope your soul is changin'! Changin'! I hope you find your peace! Falling on your knees! Prayin'!"_ Granger continued to stand as her head was thrown back and she sang her vengeance and her forgiveness, accompanied by her ghostly chorus. Draco doubted she knew they were even there. " _Oh, sometimes, I pray for you at night! Someday, maybe you'll see the light! Oh, some say, in life, you're gonna get what you give! But some things only God can forgive!"_ Her desperate voice rang sharply across her captivated audience as the ghosts behind her took up the chorus again. She continued to play, the intensity of the past few minutes slowly winding down. Her shoulder slumped and her head fell forward but she continued to sing. _"I hope you're somewhere prayin', prayin'. I hope your soul is changin', changin'. I hope you find your peace, falling on your knees…"_ her voice lowered until it was almost a whisper though no less powerful for its faintness. _"Prayin'."_

There was a moment of utter silence as the souls faded along with the magic of her song and then everyone in the ballroom leapt to their feed, applauding like mad except Draco and his father. He could barely breathe let alone move. Draco watched as Granger took a deep, shuddering breath before turning to face her enthusiastic audience. She had tear tracks on her face and seemed to be gulping in air as fast as was humanly possible. She bowed once but he saw through the curtain of her thick hair, her golden eyes darted over to where he still sat, silver eyes wide and wild.

With that one glance from her, Draco closed his eyes, and prayed.


End file.
